Tea and Trouble
by cactusnell
Summary: John starts pulling out things from behind Sherlock's couch cushions and finds more than he bargained for.


Sherlock Holmes sat in front of his laptop at 221B Baker Street, casually surfing through information on the reproductive rates of various species of plankton. He could hear the casual conversation going on in the room, but it in no way disturbed him, as it might have before his "death". There was no reason for Dr. John Watson and Inspector Greg Lestrade to be here still. He had delivered his notes (and John's) on the case to Lestrade as soon as he arrived at the flat, and expected that he would leave immediately, as he also believed that John would be eager to return to his pregnant wife. But he had grown accustomed to this casual interaction with other humans, hell, he even craved it at times, and their continued presence in his sitting room was a bit of a comfort. Knowing Mrs. Hudson, she would soon ascend from the depths with tea and biscuits for all.

As if on cue, his elderly landlady scurried through his open door.

"I'll just put this here then, shall I?" she said as John leaned over the coffee table to clear some room. Sherlocks's flat always seemed to be cluttered. John had been sitting on the couch instead of in his usual chair because Greg had unknowingly parked himself in it. John would never think to sit on Sherlock's chair. Good lord, the snarky comments that would bring on! So he found himself sitting uncomfortably on the couch.

"This thing feels awfully lumpy," he reached behind the cushions and removed some bunched up takeaway food wrappings, three socks, a crushed water bottle, and a partially eaten bag of crisps. "Don't you ever let Mrs. Hudson clean this thing?"

"Not the housekeeper, dear!" came from the kitchen where Mrs Hudson was, in fact, performing some housekeeping duties as she tackled a pile of dirty dishes.

John continued digging, only to find three crushed Chinese food takeout containers, eight ballpoint pens, and a rabbit's foot. "I hope the rest of him isn't in there, mate." Greg let out a snicker from John's chair.

"Of course not, John. I had the rest of him for supper in a nice cream sauce," Sherlock joked as he joined the others around the tea service. "You must give Mary your recipe, Mrs. Hudson."

"Not the cook, either," came her quick response, as she burrowed through Sherlock's pantry searching for something edible to add to the tea service.

John continued to pull varied detritus from behind the cushions with a series of "tsks, tsks" until the other men heard , "Oi, what have we here!" Silence fell for a brief second, followed by gales of laughter from Greg, at the next item John pulled from the couch cushions. He held it up delicately before his eyes, amusement spreading across his features. Greg had almost did a classic spit take with his tea. The knickers were lovely; white and lacey, with a tiny pink satin rose on the front. Only Sherlock maintained a look of complete detachment, cooly sipping his tea. John and Greg looked questioningly in his direction.

"Well, they certainly wouldn't fit me," Sherlock said calmly, still sipping. "Might they belong to one of your conquests, John? You used to live here, remember?"

Greg glanced enquiringly at John, who quickly responded, "Hold on, chum. I haven't lived here in almost three years. How long could they have been in these cushions? Besides, I surely would have remembered anyone who wore knickers as lovely as these."

"I don't know how long they could have been there, John. How could I? Perhaps we should we try to do some experiments to ascertain the age of the other items you have so casually dumped on my floor?"

"Why should anybody believe they are here because of John, and not you, Sherlock?" Lestrade interposed with a grin.

"Balance of probability, Graham."

"Greg!"

John studied the knickers in question. Mrs. Hudson had always harbored the notion that Sherlock was gay. She had for some time believed that John was more than just a roommate. Crossdresser? No, they wouldn't possibly fit Sherlock. Small, delicate boyfriend? Doubtful. Any male small enough to fit into the tiny knickers would be hardly more than a child. John laughed at his thoughts even traveling slightly in that direction.

"Perhaps they are Sgt. Donovan's." Sherlock interrupted his thoughts. " I did return one day to find her and Anderson sitting on that very couch, waiting impatiently to harass me. Perhaps they were overcome by the passion of the moment."

Greg moaned, and John quickly dropped the knickers onto the coffee table. The men quickly brought the conversation to a halt as Dr. Molly Hooper appeared at the door carrying a cold chest.

"Hello, everyone. I didn't know we were having a party," Molly took in the debris scattered about. "And it looks like quite a messy one at that." She surveyed the damage, food wrapping, water bottles, socks, various bit of trash, and finally the knickers, just before John could snatch them from the table. Molly had been in love with Sherlock for years, but Sherlock being Sherlock, seemed completely oblivious to the fact. She did not need to see any evidence that he did, indeed, have a sex life after all. She glanced at the knickers still displayed on the coffee table next to the sugar bowl, and quickly went into the kitchen, perhaps in search of another cup.

Mrs. Hudson glanced up as she entered. "I've washed some cups, dear. You'll find one on the counter. I'll just put the biscuits out and be on my way," she said as she headed toward the sitting room. She approached the men sitting in awkward silence around the tea service, but when she bent to add the biscuits to the table she let a little squeal.

"So that's where they went to," she calmly said as she picked up the knickers and made her way out of the flat.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said evenly, just before the room exploded into fits laughter. "Maybe Mrs. Hudson's wild days aren't_ all_ behind her," added John, to renewed laughter.

Molly entered the room as the laughter was dying. "I really can't stay. I just wanted to drop off those specimens you needed." Sherlock mumbled and nodded in her direction, once again barely acknowledging her presence.

Mrs Hudson's door was open as she was waiting for someone to leave the upstairs flat. She met Molly at the foot of the staircase and pushed the knickers into her hands. Though surprised, Molly still managed to convey a more sincere and gracious "Thank you" than Sherlock had.

"Next time, do try to be a little more careful, luv,' Mrs. Hudson said cheerily as she returned to her flat and closed the door.


End file.
